Responsibilities
by Srellet
Summary: A moment between Han and Leia. Set after ANH


She leaned against the leg of an X-wing closest to the hanger door and watched him. He was leaning over the edge of the Millennium Falcon as he made repairs to the ship's side. Her heart pumped a little faster than normal and her temper inched toward anger. What if he fell? There were plenty of ladders he could have used. What was he thinking? She frowned. Idiot. He could get himself killed.

He pulled back from the sparks, cursing to himself before pushing himself away from the edge of the Falcon. That was when he noticed her across the hanger watching him. He quickly looked away and busied himself with arranging his tools. His heart pumped a little faster and a touch of excitement tickled his stomach. Why was she watching him? What did she want from him now? She always wanted something. Did it matter? She was watching him, and he liked that.

Her cheeks flushed and she crossed her arms over her chest. Did he notice her watching him? He didn't seem to. He didn't stop working or wave at her. He couldn't possibly see her eyes this far away. Could he? She brushed that thought out of her mind. Of course, he didn't notice her. He was too busy working on the Falcon to notice anything. He lay back down on the ship and dropped most of his torso over the edge again. What an idiot.

He smiled to himself as he cranked the hydro spanner. She was still standing there watching him. Certainly she was impressed by his agility and fearlessness. Who wouldn't be? He paused for a moment and frowned. Why did he care if he impressed her? She didn't seem to like him much as it is. Always angry at him for something. Always frowning at him. Maybe if he could impress her, she'd like him a little bit and things wouldn't be so awkward and loud when his path crossed hers. He twisted his head to steal a glance and his excitement melted into disappointment. She was no longer there watching him. Enough with this nonsense; he had work to do.

She sighed loudly as she quickly walked across the hanger to the X-wing closest to the Falcon. She glanced up the ladder leading to the cockpit, grabbed its railing, and pushed it around. Heavy, but not so heavy that she couldn't move it by herself. She scanned the hanger as she chewed the inside of her cheek. It seemed like no one noticed her, or they tried not to. Ever since Alderaan…ever since then she had become invisible to everyone but the High Command, Luke, and of course, _him._ It made her feel…lonely.

He banged the hydro spanner against a stubborn bolt. He was so intent on his work that he didn't notice the rails of a ladder or the determined footfalls approaching him.

"You're going to get yourself killed."

He lifted his head and found her standing several rungs below the top of the ladder, her face unreadable.

"I'm not gonna get myself killed," he rolled his eyes. "The drop isn't more than two stories."

"Then you'll end up in the infirmary using up precious supplies needed for soldiers who get hurt in battle," she pressed her lips together.

"Don't worry, Your Worship," his eyes narrowed on her. "I don't want to be touched by your rebel doctors even if I broke my neck."

She opened her mouth then closed it. Did she come here to start a fight? She didn't want to fight with him, but it seemed like he was looking for a fight with her. Why did he always want to fight with her? Here she was being concerned about his well-being and he was being snide with her.

"Is there anything else? I've got work to do."

"You could use the ladder."

"Obviously, I don't need your ladder."

She stared at the back of his head. Well, it's here so you might as well use it."

"I didn't ask for it."

She rolled her eyes, "I know. I just thought…oh, never mind."

She started to back down the ladder then stopped. She inhaled and looked up at him. "I could help you."

He lifted his head. She avoided his eyes.

"Don't you have important rebel business to attend to?"

"Would I be here if I did?" she lied. She had plenty of work to do. She just needed a break.

Han turned back to his work. "I'm doing perfectly fine on my own," he stated as he tried to reach for a tool on the top of the Falcon.

She climbed up to the top of the ladder, grabbed the lip of the Falcon, and pulled herself up. She crossed her legs and settled herself next to his tools.

"If you use the ladder, I can hand you your tools."

He shimmied his way back on top of the Falcon. Why was she so insistent about helping him? He sat up and wiped his hands on a grease-covered rag. He stared at her, but she still refused to meet his eyes.

"_Or_, I can do it my way and you can hand me the tools."

"No."

_No?_ He bent the corners of his mouth down to suppress a smile. She sure was bossy. "You're the one who is offering to help. My way or no way."

"No," she said, folding her arms across her chest.

"Why does it have to be your way?" he asked exasperated.

She raised her eyes to his and glared at him. Why did she bother? "Fine."

He smiled at her. She was actually giving into him. Then his smile fell as she made her way back to the ladder.

"Wait." _Wait?_ She looked up, narrowing her eyes on him. Here she was offering to help. The work would go faster if he didn't have to keep climbing back up to retrieve his tools. And she did offer….

"You can help."

She tilted her head to the right and jutted out her chin, "My way."

He pulled a face, "Your way, Your Most Bossiest."

She bit her lip and climbed her way onto the Falcon. He shook his head and dropped onto the top rung of the ladder. His left eyebrow rose. He could see his work a lot easier perched upon the ladder. There was no way he was going to tell her that.

She sat cross-legged and scooted to the edge of the ship. She peered down at him.

"Gimme the wire cutters," he reached out his hand. "It's the one—"

She placed the correct tool in his hand. He looked at it then tried to hide his surprise. Of course, wire cutters are easily identified. He pinched the wires and cut them. He held up the tool to her and she took it from him.

"I need the crankshaft position sensor. That's the one—"

Once again the correct tool was in his hand. He stared at the tool and raised an eyebrow.

"Something wrong?"

"No. 'Course not."

Maybe that was a lucky guess. He quickly scanned the diagnostic read-out. He gave her the tool and asked for another one, and again she got it right. Tool after tool after tool, not a single one wrong.

"Hand me the multispindle lathe."

Her right eyebrow rose, "You don't need it and you don't even have one here."

His mouth dropped open but he quickly snapped it shut. "Where did you learn about all those tools? It couldn't be from hanging out with lowly grease-monkeys, Your Royalness."

The left corner of her mouth pulled up and she crossed her arms over her chest, "Well, flyboy, it just so happens that I _did_ hang out with what you call 'lowly grease monkeys'. I called them my friends."

"Friends?"

"Yes, contrary to popular belief, I _did_ have friends," her eyes drifted far away.

Han cringed. "I didn't mean that I thought you had no friends. I just am surprised you, a princess, would hang out with common people."

"Why not?"

"Cuz you're a _princess._"

She inhaled and exhaled. "Just because I'm a princess doesn't mean I'm not human. Why does everyone think…" She shook her head and started to get up.

"I didn't mean to insult you," he quickly backpedaled. "It's just that…I don't know. I haven't had much experience with royalty. I'm gonna put my foot in my mouth now and then."

She sat back down, "Wouldn't expect any less."

"So," he climbed on top of the Falcon and sat next to her, collecting his tools, "when did you hang out with your friends? I would think you'd be awfully busy doing princess-y things. You're always so busy here."

Her lips stretched into an impish grin, "I would sneak away from my studies when no one was looking over my shoulder," her nose wrinkled, "which was rare."

He looked upon her with admiration, "So you didn't always follow orders. Would ne'er have guessed that."

"I'm a leader of the Rebel Alliance. I can't go around shirking my responsibilities now," her cheeks reddened and she looked away.

He pressed his lips together and changed the subject. "Why mechanics?"

Her eyes glazed over with nostalgia, "I wanted to be a pilot. I wanted to learn as much as I could about speeders and ships."

"A pilot?"

"Yes, what's so shocking about that?"

"Just…" he shrugged his shoulders, "I dunno. Didn't expect…" Here he was again making assumptions about royalty. "So I take it, your father was none too happy about you wantin' to be a pilot."

She looked down at her hands, "No. I just didn't have time. He was preparing me for the Senate. Politics and etiquette filled most of my days." She raised her large brown eyes to his. "My friends did teach me a little about piloting. I'm not that bad. Not good enough to be a fighter pilot or anything. Not that I'd be allowed into the cockpit of an X-wing."

A silence settled between them. He shifted his position, leaned back on his elbows.

"I have to ask."

"What?" she straightened her spine waiting for…for what? For once he wasn't being hostile toward her. Of course, with the smuggler, things could change when she least expected it.

"Where'd you learn to shoot?" He scratched the back of his head, "You're not half bad."

"Not half bad?" Her voice rose. "I shot more storm troopers than you did on the Death Star."

"I dunno about that," he mumbled.

"Whatever," she leaned back on her hands.

"So where'd you learn to shoot? I can't imagine you've had a lot of target practice being a rebel leader and all."

"My father brought in the best marksmen in the region to train me," a wistful sadness colored her large brown eye. "Self-defense, he said. Guess he was preparing me for the rebellion as well."

"Huh."

"What?"

"I dunno. You're full of surprises."

"No, you've just made a lot of assumptions about me."

"Like you haven't made assumptions about me?" He challenged.

She looked guilty, "That's because I don't know much about you."

"Then you shoulda asked."

"Like you'd answer," she narrowed her eyes. "You're more interested in provoking fights than having a civil conversation."

"We're having a civil conversation now."

"Damn!" she bent over at the waste.

"What?" he bent over, too, and looked around.

"General Dodonna," she whispered. "Do you think he saw me?"

"I dunno. We're pretty high up," he answered as he watched the general head toward the Falcon.

"Captain Solo," the bearded man called up to them.

He grimaced at her then peered over the edge, "Yeah?"

"I'm looking for the princess. I was told she was with you."

"Uh, no. No princesses here."

"I wonder where she is," the general grumbled as he pulled on his beard. "You know, she was supposed to be at a meeting an hour and a half ago. Humph! I wonder where she is."

"If I see her, I'll tell her you're lookin' for her, he waved to General Dodonna.

"I'd appreciate that." The general turned on his heel and stormed out of the hanger.

He arranged himself in a seated position, and grinned, "Hey, General Dodonna was just here. Says you're late for a meeting."

She sighed, scooted farther away from the edge of the ship, and sat up, "He didn't believe you."

He pointed at himself and raised his eyebrows, "Me? Why not? I'm a trustworthy guy."

She rolled her eyes and smiled, "That remains to be seen."

His mood darkened, but they had such a nice conversation, did he want to ruin that now? He let go of the insult. "So…"

"So?"

"Looks like you shirked your responsibilities," he smugly ginned.

She rolled her lips between her teeth and nodded, "Sure looks that way." Then she climbed to her feet. "I need to go."

"Thanks for the help," he called down to her as she scaled the ladder. "Feel free to shirk your responsibilities with me any time."

Was that an innuendo? She dismissed that thought and gave him a genuine smile before she hurried her way out of the hangar.


End file.
